This will not be an entry which is suitable for children, not withstanding the amazing meal we have had at the pub in a hamlet of ten houses. God bless Stonethwaite, a jewel in the fells.No, not even the ‘Old Peculiar’ that I’m currently imbibing before a glass of truly excellent Rioja can dull the obscenities I am about to spew forth.

It’s just that I can’t help but channel Billy Connolly after today! We made it, but my Lord, nothing on the Camino got close. I have well and truly sold Paula a bill of goods!

There is this whisper that old man Wainwright was a bit of a joker, after all. I have this sense that he’s up there, with the Big Fella himself, just explaining how you perform a really good practical joke. You know, you just need a whole bunch of feckin’ holiday makers, no matter where from. Then you tell them it’s the best walk in the world: too easy!

So you start them out with the full f#*ing English breakfast, no worries; and send them along the lake so they think they can walk on bloody water. Take them up to the most remote YHA in the whole UK: you’re just lulling them to f*#*in’ sleep. So they leave after a nice rest and walk across a kilometre of bog, and then you doing the surprise. 380 metres straight ‘ up. I just laugh!

Then comes the piece de resistance. They arrive at the top absolutely knackered, so you give them Lakeland weather at its best. For the wary, misery; for the unwary, hypothermia. My whole life’s work summed up in a afternoon. And then there are those last ten kilometres!

God Bless Wainwright, and may he rest in peace — or pieces, given that his ashes are strewn somewhere on the fells. It is stunning, and even on a day like today, beating that horrendous climb is a big achievement, but we piked the last five kilometres and took the bus down from the quarries. The rain made it utter misery, and we still want to have fun amidst all the sweat and tears!

Oh, to have seen Ennerdale in the sunshine, or looked across to Derwent Water without driving rain! But tomorrow is another day and a different weather forecast, and even though Thursday doesn’t look promising, our last day in the high fells promises to be warm and sunny. We’ll bust our guts on the climbs, but we’ll see Wordsworth’s house and the Brothers’ Stone, where he farewelled his brother for the last time. We’re all mad, and the English are completely crackers, but I’ve never seen country like this, even in the South Island, and such lovely, lovely people. Hospitality without peer. God bless England.

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